


Day 10: The Emeralds of Eryn Galen

by ofplanet_earth



Series: 30 days of Barduil [10]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bard's first visit to Mirkwood, Canon Compliant, Confused Bard of Laketown, Flirting, I'm Bad At Summaries, I'm Bad At Tagging, King Bard, M/M, Post-Canon, Smut, So much flirting, Thranduil has a gift for Bard, ugh these two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2015-11-11
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:31:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5187077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Elvenking has a gift for the new King of Dale, to repay him for his hospitality.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Day 10: The Emeralds of Eryn Galen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jennacorinth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jennacorinth/gifts), [LittleBiscuit](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=LittleBiscuit).



> I'm sorry this one is a little later than usual. work got in the way of writing last night and I wasn't able to start this piece until afterwards (and even then it just wouldn't come out of my head). 
> 
> but! this is the original prompt Jennacorinth sent me on tumblr. oh, what a prompt it was!  
>  **this is a direct sequel to Day 9: The Emeralds of Girion.**
> 
> to the anon who asked about Beren and Luthien: I have the BEST IDEA FOR THAT PROMPT. so it's not in today's fic, but it will be soon.
> 
> thank you all so much for your kind words and your ideas! it seriously makes all this craziness worth it ♡

Barely a fortnight passed before Thranduil sent Feren with an invitation and instructions to escort the King of Dale to his halls. When they crossed the tree line into the forest, the change could be felt all throughout; the healing trees began to hum and newly vacated spiders’ nests echoed with the approaching sounds of hooves against the living earth. 

Thranduil rose from his throne as they neared the mountain. He traced a path through his halls and came to stand before the gates just as they began to open. Feren dismounted his steed with all the strength and grace of the Silvan elves while Bard, mortal and unused to riding horseback, stumbled rather clumsily when he reached the ground. 

Thranduil made no comment, though a smile broke the regal mask of his face as a light pink dusted the apples of the man’s cheeks. “Welcome Bard, King of Dale. You honour me with your presence here.” 

“And you honour me with your invitation, Lord Thranduil.” 

Thranduil said nothing of the use of his title, only raised an eyebrow and motioned Bard inside as the great stone gates began to swing closed. “Come. Dinner awaits us in the dining hall.” 

“I will accompany you to dinner?” The man’s tone was light, though beneath his humour lay hints of uncertainty and disbelief. 

“If it would please you,” Thranduil turned to him as they ventured further from the gates. “I much desire to hear of your first weeks as king.” 

“I fear I do not have much to tell.” Bard walked beside him, keeping Thranduil’s pace with little difficulty, though his stride was shorter and his muscles were weary from his travel. “I find the crown to be tiresome, if a bit dull. Not much has changed since I saw you last.” This, Thranduil saw, was a lie. Already Bard’s head was held higher— his countenance more noble and his presence more commanding than it had been at his coronation. 

Thranduil spoke of none of this. “Then we must find other topics with which to occupy our conversation.” 

“Shall I compile a list?” Bard’s smile caught the torchlight in Thranduil’s periphery.

“Perhaps that would be wise. It would not do to begin our friendship with strained talk of the weather.” 

“Though it is quite a lovely day we’re having, is it not?” This drew a laugh from Thranduil’s chest— a startled and bright sound that had the trees of the forest dancing and mountain itself trembling in its wake. A lovely day it was indeed, though Thranduil thought he might say the same even in the face of a terrible storm. 

Their company was kept easily over food and wine and, when Tauriel returned from her patrol of their southern borders and the ruins of Dol Guldur, he bade Bard explore the halls in his absence. 

“What if I cannot find my way back?” 

“I know this realm as I know my own self. I will know where you are, mellon-nín.” Bard appeared confused by Thranduil’s words for a moment, but he smiled and rose from his seat as Thranduil left the table. A smile tugged at his lips as he left the dining hall.

Tauriel reported that Dol Guldur had been emptied, and indeed, the darkness that had befallen his wood had finally been lifted. Thranduil could feel life returning to the forest; he was filled with an energy and a peace he had long forgotten. He thought of Bard, of their easy companionship, of the promise held within their friendship and their allied people and he was glad. 

Thranduil soon found himself in his own chambers and spent the last moments of the daylight looking over the Greenwood, watching the sun set over the calm trees. He turned from his balcony and returned to his sitting room, where the token of Bard’s appreciation sat upon the table.

He lifted the necklace of Girion from its Dwarven box. Truly, the gems were as green as lush grass and brilliant as Thranduil remembered them to be. He called for Galion to summon Bard to him— the man was wandering the halls near his throne room— perhaps a bit lost but seeming calm in Thranduil’s promise to find him. 

He looked over the emeralds again. A gift they were, and more precious to him because of it. _As repayment for your aide,_ Bard had said. A smile rose on Thranduil’s lips. If repayment was what his friend sought, then Thranduil had a mind to express his gratitude.

♔

When Galion found Bard, he was standing before the steps of the Elvenking’s throne— grand and antlered and surrounded by pillars that seemed grow from the stone of the mountain.

“My Lord requests your presence in his chambers, King of Dale.” Bard sighed. He supposed there was no dissuading the elf from using such formalities, though they made him all too aware of the stiffness of his robes and the weight of his title. He followed the butler through arched corridors and over winding bridges high above the lower levels of the Woodland Realm. 

They came at last to a closed door. Galion bowed and left him there without a word. Bard wondered whether he was meant to enter or wait for his host. He decided to knock. The heavy wood of the door echoed dully through the hall and the rooms beyond. Bard could hear Thranduil’s voice call to him as though he stood close enough to touch, but when he pushed open the door he stepped into an empty room. 

There was a fireplace and soft, upholstered chairs. Upon the table between them was the box Bard had presented to the Elvenking some weeks before, but it sat empty. “Thranduil?” The name came easier to his lips each time he said it.

“Through here,” the Elvenking called again. 

Bard stepped around the chairs and through the doorway to his right. Soft torchlight danced across the stone walls and the fine fabric of the drapes framing the balcony. The sun had set while Bard had wandered the halls, but the sky still clung to the last hint of light. 

These things all faded from Bard’s mind at the sight of what lay on the bed against the far wall. There, propped against a headboard that nearly mirrored the king’s throne, leaning against a dozen silk pillows, was Thranduil. He wore the emeralds Bard had given to him on their last meeting. 

He wore nothing else. 

Bard stuttered and stumbled, nearly knocking Thranduil’s crown off of its pedestal in his haste to excuse himself. Surely he was not meant to see this. “I apologize, I thought— please excuse me.” He could feel heat rising in his cheeks, furious and betraying his most private thoughts. 

“You are not excused.” 

“Pardon?” Bard’d mind was a whirlwind. Thranduil stood, his long legs unfolding from the luxurious quilts of his bed to step down to the carpet below. Bard was staring, he knew. The Elvenking was all smooth, pale skin and graceful strength. His hair glowed like the light of the night’s first star as it brushed the gold and emeralds at his throat. Bard cursed as he stumbled backwards again, only to fall into a waiting chair. 

“I said,” Thranduil strode forward, faster and more gracefully than Bard would have thought possible. “You are not excused.” He came to stand before Bard, calm and regal and as dignified as he’d been riding his elk into battle. “That is, unless you wish to leave.” 

“I—“ Bard swallowed and willed his eyes to remain focused on Thranduil’s face— to abandon the path they’d begun to follow down the lines of his firm chest. “I do not understand.” 

“I have a thought, _King of Dale_. A question I wish to have answered.” 

“What is that?” Bard’s voice was naught but a whisper on the cool air of the approaching night. Had Thranduil not been blessed with keen elvish ears, he might not have heard it. As it was, a sly smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“I wish to know if you would flatter me with your tongue, rather than your words.” 

A strangled moan lodged itself in Bard’s throat. Could Thranduil really be offering such a thing? Never had he entertained the notion that their friendship might come to this— never had he thought it a possibility. But there was the Elvenking, bare and smooth and giving Bard the most _sinful_ look he’d ever seen.  
 Still, Bard said nothing. 

The elvenking stepped forward again and Bard could not tear his eyes away from the king’s cock, half- hard from the attention Bard had shown him already. He lifted one knee and then the other so that he sat astride Bard’s lap. Bard’s hands reached forward and met the skin of Thranduil’s thighs, hesitant at first— though surely there was no room left between them for any miscommunication.

Thranduil reached for bard’s chin, drawing his gaze from their laps and up his chest, over the emeralds Bard had gifted him. He pulled him into a kiss; a tender thing that quickly devolved into a clash of lips and tongue and the heat of shared breath. Bard’s hands moved of their own accord, sliding over the crease of Thranduil’s hip and up the arch of his back. Thranduil’s thumb traced across his lips when they parted, his breath like the whisper of a ghost while Bard panted and gasped for air. 

“The crown you wear is heavy; I see its pull even now. Let me ease the weight, if only for a while. Cast aside the king; give me the Bargeman.”

Bard’s hands grew more bold, dragging downward to grasp the meat of Thranduil’s rear and grind him against his own hardened cock. “I would give you anything you asked of me.” The words were desperate; a plea on his lips. 

“I would have you. All of you, Bard of Dale. Everything you have to give, I would take.” 

“Yes,” Bard breathed. 

Thranduil stood then, holding his hand out to Bard. His skin was smooth against the callouses of Bard’s palm, and if the Elvenking noticed the trembling of his fingers he did not say. He pulled the tunic over Bard’s head and his undershirt next. They fell to the floor, followed quickly by the leather of Bard’s trousers, the cool air crashing over his flushed skin like the waters of the Long Lake in the new heat of summer. 

Thranduil was on his knees before him. The thought that this man— this elf— would bow before Bard to kiss the skin of his stomach and his hip and breathe in the musk of him as though Bard were something precious, something to be revered. It nearly had him coming undone. Bard’s fingers met the sharp line of Thranduil’s jaw and pulled him gently upward. But Thranduil only kissed his palm and continued on his chosen path. 

“My Lord,” Bard’s voice was rough as Thranduil took him into his mouth. “Oh— please. I won’t last—“ His knees were weak and his hands had woven themselves between the fine strands of Thranduil’s hair with neither his knowledge nor his permission. He used this leverage to tug—gently, for he feared hurting the Elvenking or frightening him— feared he might shock himself from the bliss of this dream. 

He never wanted to leave the heat of Thranduil’s mouth, never wanted to be far enough away that he could not reach out and touch the satin of his skin. Thranduil steadied Bard’s hips with his hands, his long fingers holding him firm so that he could do as he liked between Bard’s legs. 

How long had it been since someone had cared to pleasure him this way? Too long, Bard decided, and moaned in earnest as Thranduil swallowed him down deeper and dug his nails into his tired skin. Bard was overwhelmed. He gripped Thranduil’s hair tighter, helpless against the onslaught of Thranduil’s lips and the press of his fingers and the slide of his tongue. 

His mind was emptied; the weight of his crown and the needs of his people long forgotten. He came with Thranduil’s name on his lips, no titles or formalities.

How he came to be on the Elvenking’s bed, Bard could not say. But Thranduil hovered above him when he opened his eyes, a small and mischievous smirk on his lips. “I thought you wanted _me_ to flatter you with my tongue,” Bard said. 

“There is time yet,” Thranduil hummed. “Come now, Bard. Surely you have not exhausted yourself so thoroughly that you can not go again?”

**Author's Note:**

> it's not too late to request a fic! [submit a prompt](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/ask) and I'll add it to the list!  
> I like to tag [inspiration](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/30-days-of-barduil) for the stories I write. 
> 
> you can keep track of my word count on [my WriMo novel page](http://nanowrimo.org/participants/ofplanet-earth/novels/30-days-of-barduil) or [my tumblr](http://www.ofplanet-earth.tumblr.com/tagged/nanowrimo).


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